


with two heads and one heartbeat

by opheliahyde



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Alternate Universe - Western, Anal Sex, Blood Magic, Blood Sharing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sibling Incest, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-06 21:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19070989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opheliahyde/pseuds/opheliahyde
Summary: What is done, cannot be undone.





	with two heads and one heartbeat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scorpiod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiod/gifts).



> A western/werewolf fusion AU, with elements of the show blended together like a weird, but delicious smoothie.
> 
> Any historical inaccuracies are my own. I did what little research I could, the rest I pulled from memory or my imagination. This was written in less than two days, forgive me any offense I might have done.

Seth should’ve listened to his own words and not have rode down to that saloon, deal or no deal. It wouldn’t be the first or the last time The Gecko Brothers broke a promise, cut and run, disappearing with the loot and not sharing. But Seth _owed_ Carlos, and he never liked owing anyone but his brother. Debts itch all over his skin like clothes that have been on too long without a wash, sweat and dirt drying like a crusty layer until he can dip into cool water.

 _It’s just you and me, we’re the only ones we can trust_ , he remembers telling Richie, heads bowed together, the fire crackling, setting off sparks in the corner of his eye, reflecting off the shine of Richie’s spectacles. _Just us, only us._

But Seth wanted to repay Carlos what he owed him—enough to settle Carlos sticking his neck out for them and getting them clear of the law until they could recuperate, get the bullet out of Richie’s shoulder and the cut in Seth’s side stitched up. Seth didn’t like having a favor hanging over his head, he liked a clean break. He wanted to fill Carlos’ pockets with nice sum of money so he would never come a-callin’ for a favor.

Richie knew something had gone amiss, his instincts sharp as a blade, cutting to the heart of the truth and Seth had always trusted them before, and he should have now, but some buckwild stubbornness had settled into his bones and made him press on, taking Richie deep into the southwest.

Seth hadn’t counted on _her_ , hadn’t calculated into his plans that the nightmares Richie had been waking up from, sweaty and disoriented, were a warning. Seth never knew how to heed signs and warnings, thought he could make his own destiny as long as he kept moving forward, as long as Richie was at his side.

He’d been a fool. A goddamn fool.

  
  


 

Kisa rode away with them, arms wrapped around Richie’s waist and Seth tried to quell the fire of jealousy in his gut, hating the way they looked together on horseback in the moonlight, two dark creatures of the night, their eyes gleaming in the dark.

 _We’re only taking her to the nearest town_ , he tries to remind himself, what Richie told him, pressed up close and Seth’s blood still ripe on his lips. _She doesn’t want to stay with us, she doesn’t want to stay anywhere_.

Seth couldn’t fault her for that, after what he had seen, what she shared with him and Richie, her hands flush over their hearts as images and memories flashed through their minds as if they lived them. Seth can still smell the jungle if he thinks back hard enough, still feel the pain she implanted deep inside him, phantom aches from things that never happened striking up a dance with his own demons and scars.

(“He’s dead,” Seth told her, stroking a hand down her spine, watching her knees buckle as she stared at the pile of dust getting carried off with the wind, Richie catching her elbow before she fell. “You did it.”

He looked at Richie, not seeing the man he’d become, or the monster she made him, but the skinny as a rod boy, shaking with a too big shotgun in his hands as they stood in the field that night, smoke in Seth’s eyes as the ramshackle house they grew up in disappeared in the flames, taking their good for nothin’ daddy with it.

Maybe that’s why she had called to Richie. Kisa looked inside him and knew he could pull a trigger when necessary, that Richie knew how to take a match to the past and set it alight.)

Seth helps Kisa down, after swinging to the ground from his own horse, offering his hands as she slid until the ground was firm under her feet. She grins at him, a slight crooked smile that never grows bigger, eyes dark under her thick mane of hair—reminding him a bit of a horse, wild and untamed, finally free at last.

“Thank you,” she says, touching his cheek, then moving away from him, towards the town line, still asleep in the early morning gloom.

Richie gets down and follows her, while Seth keeps his distance. His ears can’t pick up what they say to each other, but his brother ducks down as Kisa rises up to press her lips to his forehead. They break away and Kisa turns her back to them, walking with purpose into the town as Richie turns back to him.

“She could have stayed,” Seth says, offering something he knew deep down would fester inside him like a wound that had gone bad.

Richie shakes his head. “She needs to go her own way.”

They don’t stay, choosing to let Kisa have the town, and head for the hills, finding a cave to bunk down in for the day, dark and away from the sunlight. Richie sleeps heavy, curled over Seth’s chest, face turned against his heartbeat as Seth tries to fall under, but his mind won’t rest, turning the events over in his mind, trying to figure out their next move, where their path leads them from here.

  


 

Seth wakes to a sudden stab of pain flooding from his shoulder, jaws clamped down hard as he starts to feel himself be dragged across the cave floor, pulled out from under his brother before Richie has a chance to wake. He wonders, for a moment, if this is what it feels like to be torn apart, a pop of bone and flesh ripping, what it’s like to be prey to an animal bigger and stronger than he is.

It’s not any worse than seeing his brother shot through the heart, their shared blood spraying him in the face as Richie crumpled on the ground, unable to move or think, his chest aching like he’d been shot instead, Kisa rushing over to him, her golden skin turned to scales and her mouth opening wide.

Richie’s skin can turn to scales now, fangs coming out as he hisses and snarls, eyes bright yellow, slitted down the middle—part snake, part man—flying at the creature that has Seth, trying to pull him further into the cave to be devoured. Seth is dropped when Richie slams into the creature, curling in on himself as he grabs for his shoulder, trying to stop the flow of hot blood that seeps between his fingers, the wound deep and ragged, his shoulder dislocated. Seth can’t see what’s going on behind his back, but he can hear the animalistic noises coming from his brother until there’s a sharp yelp and the sound of feet running back into the cave.

“Seth, _Seth_ ,” he hears Richie pant over him, his touch on his arm gentle, careful, the kind of touch that Seth remembers when their father beat him too hard, light fingers across bruised, split open flesh, assessing the damage.

He groans, but can’t make himself speak, the beginnings of a sob tightening in his throat, the pain wracking his body in waves. “Shh,” Richie breathes out, the sound of rustling behind him followed by Richie lifting his arm to warm something around him, tied tight to stop the bleeding. “I’ve got you, okay? I’m gonna take care of you, get you fixed up.” Richie’s hands start sliding under his back and his legs, his brother lifting Seth up in his arms like it was nothing, the strength Richie now possesses making Seth more woozy than the loss of blood.

The moon is bright and full when Richie carries him out of the cave, Seth wincing at the light, curling against Richie and feeling bare, cool flesh under his cheek as the realization that richie wrapped his shirt around his wound crashes into him full force. Seth nuzzles his nose along Richie’s collarbone, searching for a heartbeat that isn’t there anymore, swaying with every step. The horses are spooked, shrieking into the night as they dance around each other, but they calm when Richie comes near, hefting Seth up onto his saddle.

“You need to keep yourself upright for a moment or so, brother, so I can tie the horses together and get up behind you. Can you manage that?” Richie asks, wrapping Seth’s hands in the reins.

Seth nods, but can’t keep himself sitting up straight, slumping forward until his face is buried in Richie’s horse’s mane, uninjured arm draped around the pretty mare’s neck. He must’ve fallen asleep, drifting into unconsciousness, waking to the feeling of movement, the bounce of a horse in full gallop, Richie pressed against his back, Richie’s arms holding him, Richie whispering to him, “come on, just stay with me, a little longer, just a little longer. Don’t you die on me, Seth.”

The world goes black.

  


 

Seth awakens to a soft bed under his back, his shoulder sore, but hanging right, with fresh bandages wrapped around tight, his arm bound across his chest in a sling. A fire crackles somewhere out of sight, logs breaking open as the open flame eats through the wood, a pungent smell of something cooking fills the air. Soft voices echo just out of sight, low furious whispers in a tongue Seth doesn’t understand, but the tone is angry, and he can make out his brother’s voice no matter what language he was speaking. Seth chances sitting up, finding the pain a dull sharpness that rolls down his body, but not as bad as he had been anticipating, bearable to heft himself up to see if he could get to his feet.

The bed must have creaked, or the floorboards, but Richie came around the wall in a flurry. “Thank god,” he says, his hands fussing over Seth, feeling his neck, his forehead with the back of his hand, until Seth feels himself being pushed back down on the mattress, quilt being rucked back up to his shoulders. “Please, just rest.”

A woman creeps around Seth’s field of vision, clutching a shawl around her shoulders, her hair a long dark braid hanging loose at her side, her skin dark in the fire light, her eyes cautious and suspicious, but Seth recognizes her face, and in a moment, his surroundings become familiar.

“Hello, Mary,” he says, his voice dry, cracked. Before he has to ask, Richie is pressing a cup of water to his lips, letting the cool liquid flow into his mouth and down his parched throat.

Mary shakes her head, making a tutting sound, and says something to Richie in a tone that sounds like a scolding.

Richie brushes Seth’s hair back, his mouth quirking to the side. “You know that’s not her real name.” Seth knows, he’s always known, but he doesn’t have a grasp on languages the way Richie does, almost didn’t learn to read, couldn’t learn his letters until Richie sat him down and worked him through it. He’d rather call her by the name white men gave her than embarrass himself, thick, stupid tongue stumbling over the foreign sounds.

“Well, I can’t say her real name,” Seth retorts, watching Mary eyeing them with an expression he’s never seen before, something fearful reflecting back in her dark gaze, a terror turning her body rigid, not simply annoyance. Then she leaves the room, her steps heavy on the floorboard, creaking up the ladder into the loft.

“She wants us gone by dusk,” Richie says, his voice taking on a somber tone, an ache under the words, tugging at his throat. “We can’t come back.”

 _Why?_ Seth tries to ask, but Richie presses his mouth over Seth’s, blotting out the question, keeping Seth silent as his tongue slides inside and tangles with Seth’s tongue, his hands cupping Seth’s face as he climbs into the bed with him. It is narrow fit, the bed just larger than a cot, but they’ve made do with less, fitting their bodies together life they’ve been doing all their lives, limbs slotting into the most comfortable places as they settle into each other, lips only parting for gasps of breath.

“You’ll be able to ride tomorrow,” Richie says, when their furious kisses soften, Seth letting Richie hold him against his chest, his cool fingers drawing shapes across his back over his shirt.

Seth doesn’t ask him how he knows, sleep hitting him hard, exhaustion too much to allow him to argue—there will be time enough for secrets when dusk falls.

  


 

Seth is able to ride, like Richie had said— _a miracle, or a curse_ , Seth didn’t know which it was, but his flesh had knitted up on its own in his sleep, shoulder no longer pained, all that was left was fresh, pink skin and white, raised scars the shape of a bite and claw marks dragged down his chest. He ran his fingers over the marks for a few moments in Mary’s cloudy looking glass, making out the shape, trying to place what animal it had been until she startles him, appearing over his shoulder, making him close his shirt and rush his fingers over the buttons.

Mary gives them what she can, sparing a little bit of food to help them on their way, while Richie left her a decent sum on her table. Parting gifts, the end of their alliance—at least it was on good terms, and not a bloody end. She hands Richie a folded piece of parchment, which he tucks into his jacket and nods. Seth tips his hat at her as he passes, but she only shudders, pulling her shawl tighter. Seth feels her eyes on their backs until they’re too far away for her to see them, following Richie as they disappear into the great vast land outstretched before them.

  


 

Seth had heard the stories—the kind passed around a fire to pass the night, stories told low and hushed about men who turned into wolves and howled at the moon, then devoured their loved ones, ravaged whole villages and stole away children in the night.

Their father had told him the first, liquor on his breath, swaying in his chair, laughing as he said that one of these creatures has broken in their door and ate their mother, dragging her body across the fields, leaving a bloody trail, but it had been a lie. He knew that their momma died with their daddy’s hands around her throat, and he had made Richie help dig the grave behind their house.

Sometimes stories cover up the truth, but sometimes, stories exist to explain the truth.

Kisa had been a goddess transformed, cursed, and trapped; she had brought Richie back to life with her curse, the two of them more than human, with a hunger for blood and a scaled shape under their skins.

Maybe it had not just been a wolf that had attacked Seth in that cave, maybe it was more than a wolf, maybe the wolf had become a part of him the way Richie’s eyes turn golden and serpentine, had given him new strength and healed the wounds that would have killed him.

“You know what you are,” Richie says to him, the pair of them on their backs, bedrolls tucked close together, miles from the nearest town, the stars bright overhead and the moon half full. “I knew, but I wasn’t sure until I brought you to Sahkyo. It’s why we can’t go back, the both of us, we’re no longer human.”

Seth breathes in deep and squeezes his eyes shut, tries to still the restless beat of his heart, make it steady and sure. “Am I like you? Will I live forever?”

“You know that’s not part of the story.”

  


 

The moon waxes and wanes, Richie watches the changes every night, making notes to himself in the bound up journal they bought at the last outport they had visited, making plans, preparing for the next time the moon grows to fullness. They stop at a tavern in the low light of the evening, the shadows heavy enough that Richie can walk around with ease, broad brim of his hat providing any protection he might need. He slides Seth a few gold coins when they settle at a table in the back, not seating himself, but resting his hands on Seth’s shoulders and leaning in close to his ear.

“Order as much food as you need, I will be back soon,” he whispers, mouth close to Seth’s ear, his lips brushing the corner of Seth’s jaw, a ghost of a kiss as he pulls back, squeezing Seth’s shoulders before removing his hands.

Seth can’t stop the whimper that builds in his throat, a raw animal sound that came from somewhere deep inside, the wolf clawing its way to the surface. “Feed on me,” he says, gasping it out, frowning when Richie laughs, a barking hiccuping sound. “We’ve done it before.”

He turns to see Richie shaking his head, hand coming up to cup around Seth’s jaw, thumb rubbing through the coarse hair he allowed to grow out, beard filling in through the fortnight. “You will need your strength, so not tonight, brother. Tonight I will have to hunt.”

Richie drops his hand, then walks away, leaving Seth alone at the table, fingers rolling the coins across the table.

  


 

Bellies full, Richie comes back to collect him as the moon starts to rise. Seth can feel it, deep in his marrow, a shift of his insides, his guts rearranging. They head out on horseback, deep into the desert evening, far away from any living soul—with luck, no one else will die tonight.

“You should chain me up, Richard,” Seth says, his voice gone rough, pain wracking his body from the soles of his feet and up his spine, sliding from his horse and curling into himself, trying to hold his body together to keep it from flying apart. “I could hurt you, I could hurt the horses.”

Richie grabs him by the shoulders, holding him upright as another way hits him, his bones starting to bend in unnatural ways. “I have you, it’ll be fine. I’ve fought one of your kind before, and that’s why I made you eat, to keep the horses safe. Now let’s get you out of those clothes before you tear them apart.”

There is a cheeky retort on the edge of his tongue, dancing around his head about Richie wanting to get him out of his clothes, but the pain is too much to spit it out, to enjoy Richie unbuttoning his shirt and pulling his belt open.

Transforming from man to wolf, if Seth were to describe it, is like being turned inside out, the wolf devouring your body to climb its way out of the prison of your human flesh, tearing you to shreds until all that’s left standing is the wolf and you’re the one trapped on the inside. He watches Richie from behind the wolf’s eyes, expecting to find himself growling, his jaws snapping open, but the wolf’s tail wags, weaving around Richie, fur coat rubbing up against his legs.

Seth hears a  voice, not his own, old and ancient and deep, rumbling through his head, _packbrothermate_ , as the wolf nudges their head against Richie’s hands and licks his cheek, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

“Hello there,” Richie says, his voice loud and rich, filling his ears as his hands stroke down his back and move to scritch behind his ears. “Christ, even as a wolf, you’re still so goddamn beautiful. Maybe prettier.”

The wolf moves their body forward, nudging at Richie, pushing him to the ground, then dancing away, circling around him until Richie laughs, the sound reverberating through Seth, the wolf shaking as Richie gets to his feet. “Do you want to run? I can run with you.”

Seth feels the howl rip through him, a violent sound that comes from his guts, but once out, he feels free, light, his paws picking up as his body moves into a sprint, leaping forward as he feels Richie beside him, trying to keep pace as they move towards the starry horizon.

 

 

Richie made sure there was a cave nearby, so when Seth came back to himself in the early light of morning, they could duck inside and keep Richie away from the sunlight. Seth chooses not to dress, wolf still too close that clothes feel wrong, constricting, staying nude as they roll out their bed rolls together. He feels Richie’s eyes follow him, watching his back, running down the length of his body until Seth looks over his shoulder, grinning.

“Why don’t you stop looking with your eyes and get over here and start looking with your hands?” Seth says, rolling around onto his back, feeling his cock swell as Richie stares at him, Seth leaving his legs bent, spread wide. “Come on, it’s been a few days.”

It had been, Richie too focused on the preparation, Seth too terrified of what might happen, they spend most time in bed with their arms wrapped around each other, trying to lull themselves to sleep. But now that it’s over, it’s all Seth can think about.

Seth runs his fingers down his chest and over his stomach, letting the pads of his fingers drift over his lengthening cock, before taking himself in hands, stroking in earnest. “You’re not going to make me take care of myself, are you?”

Richie moves faster now, fast enough Seth doesn’t see him, until his hands are pinned above his head and Richie is panting above him. “No,” he says, reaching between them to undo his belt, his trousers, his cock brushing the inside of Seth’s thigh when he pulls himself out. “You know I always take care of you.”

The fingers Seth expects don’t slip inside him, but Richie crawls down his body, resting Seth’s legs against his shoulders as his tongue flicks out to lick at the head of Seth’s cock, soft, teasing licks that make him gasp out, groaning deep when Richie takes him all the way into his mouth and down the back of his throat, sucking him hard, nose buried in the dark nest of curls at the base of Seth’s cock.

Richie’s eye flutter closed when he drags his mouth up, Seth’s fingers reaching down to curl in his hair, pulling when Richie takes him all the way again, his throat swallowing around the head of his cock. “Fuck, fuck,” he breathes out, yanking on Richie’s hair when Richie moans around him. “You’ve been hiding this from me.”

Richie licks up the underside of Seth’s cock when he pulls up, looking up at Seth from between his thighs. “Not hiding, it just hasn’t been the right time,” he says, his hands cupping around Seth’s hips, pushing forward as he lifts Seth up, rolling his spine, so that Richie’s face lines up with Seth’s ass. “There is more,” he says, then pushes his face between Seth’s cheeks, licking over the tight ring of muscle there, then Seth feels his tongue working inside him, slow at first, then thrusting in—deeper than he’s ever felt it, swirling around his insides, curling up against the spot that makes his vision go white.

Seth would like to finish like this, around Richie’s long and delicious tongue, but he can’t quell the desire to feel his brother inside him like he hasn’t felt in days. With his newfound strength, he twists his hips, wrapping his legs around Richie and pushing up from the ground, flipping their positions, his knees around Richie’s waist, his trousers down around his ankles, staring up at Seth with his hair mussed and lips pink, slick, and swollen. Seth spits in his hand, reaching behind himself to coat Richie’s cock—they’ve done it before like this, with just spit and no oil, with a little edge of pain that Seth sometimes likes, sometimes needs, that isn’t as bad as what just happened, that he doesn’t hesitate when he raises himself up and feels Richie at his entrance, dropping down with a whimper that echoes off the cave walls.

“Seth,” Richie says, panting and reaching up, and Seth goes when his hands cup around his face and brings his mouth to Richie’s, pressing their lips together as Seth starts to rock, shifting his hips as he gets used to the feeling of Richie filling him up, fitting inside him just right.

Seth pulls himself up from Richie’s mouth so he can work himself up, thrusting back down, picking up a rhythm as he rides Richie hard and fast, unable to slow down, a wildness sprung up inside him, driving him on. He doesn’t have a name for the noises that come out of his mouth, wretched and feral sounds that have Richie pushing himself up and wrapping his arms over Seth’s back, holding him as Seth moves in his lap, rocking them both to completion, Richie spilling inside him.

They collapse together, Seth falling on top of Richie, breathing hard, yelping when Richie slips out of him, his release running sticky down his thigh, but he relishes the feeling of Richie under him, solid and real, then everything barrels into him like a steam engine careening down a railway.

“I can’t do this,” Seth says against Richie’s throat, eyes starting to burn, curled as close as he can get without Richie being within him, the ache of his brother fucking him still throbbing deep inside. “I don’t want to grow old by myself. I don’t want to die without you.”

“Shh,” Richie says, running his hand over the back of his neck, and down his back. “Hush, there might be a way, I—Sahkyo gave me some information, before we left, there might be something, but she warned me that—”

“I don’t care,” Seth says, unable to stop himself. “I don’t. I’d do anything other than be like this. We’re not even the same _species_ anymore.”

“Okay,” Richie says, “okay, we’ll do it.”

  


 

They travel east, towards New Orleans, then deeper into the bayou, in search of the woman who could cure them—or so they’ve heard.

Seth never put much stock into cures or happy endings, that was never going to be for them, too many marks against their name for their many sins they’ve committed in their short, turbulent lives. It could be worse, they could have died young and bloody and alone. They should count their blessings and not want for more, but Seth can’t help the gnawing of desire that works at his bones, makes his belly ache with want.

He never could leave well enough alone.

“Are you taking us to a godforsaken swamp witch, Richard?” Seth asks as they tie up their horses, the ground too soft and spongy for their hooves; they will have to continue on foot.

Richie’s stare is hard, pointed behind his ridiculous, useless spectacles he still wears out of habit. “She’s not a swamp witch. Be respectful and, for once in your life, keep your mouth shut. We don’t need to make our situation worse.”

Seth holds his tongue and closes his lips, following Richie into the dense fog in silence. The path is easy to follow, leading to a haphazard bridge with mismatched boards, strung across the swamp in a way that gives Seth pause, but Richie steps forward and he must follow, being careful with his steps as they sway in the air.

The woman waits on the edge of her porch, like she knew they were coming, but they hadn’t sent word or a message ahead. Seth looks at Richie, but Richie just moves ahead of him, bowing his head and kneeling in front of her, offering out a sachetel that Seth knows is filled with gold. The woman didn’t look how he pictured, her smooth midnight skin reflecting the moonlight, setting off her round features, rather than shadowing them, her hair was pulled back into braids, then wound into a knot at the base of her neck. She was dressed simply, light cotton dress to keep cool in the humid heat of the bayou.

She takes the sachetel from Richie’s hands, gesturing him to pull himself back to his feet as she drops the gold out into her hands, counting each piece, weighing it in her hands before dropping it back into the sachetel. “Will do,” she says, waving her hand in a forward motion, welcoming them inside. “Come.”

Her home is small and clean, well-kept, not at all what Seth was picturing, standing with the wood creaking under his shoes. The room she leads them into is a little more dressed, rich purple fabrics draped over the table, the chairs, jars of spices lining the walls on shelves filled with thick, leather bound tomes. She is seated first, then he and Richie take the chairs opposite.

“If I may ask, what shall we call you?” Richie says, folding his hands on the table.

“No names. Names have too much power,” she says, shaking her head. “I will not need to know your names to perform the ritual, if you are still willing to go through with it.”

“Yes, we are,” Richie says, staring straight ahead, the woman and his eyes locked in a silent conversation.

Seth cannot hold his tongue any longer. “What ritual?”

“Do not worry, all will be explained in time. We have a few days before the full moon yet, and it will only work on the full moon,” the woman explains, looking back and forth between them. “You will have to be sure this is what you want, as there is no going back.”

“I understand,” Richie says, his hand reaching out to rest on Seth’s arm, before Seth launches himself out of his seat. “We understand.”

“Understand what? Are you going to make us human again?” Seth asks.

She shakes her head, her mouth curling to reveal strong, white teeth. “There is no cure for what you are, for what he is, there is no going back to humanity, only forward. You do not want to live without your brother, you will not. You do not want to grow old, age will not touch you. But there is a cost, as there is with all things.” She turns to look at Richie, staring like she can see deep inside, peel away the layers of his brother and see what is working through his mind, in his heart. “You should not be afraid, he will not say no.”

She pulls herself to her feet. “You will stay here, I have a room. You will work and help me prepare until the moon grows full. Then you will leave. Fair?”

Richie nods, while Seth stares at him in profile, trying to see what she saw, trying to make sense of what is going to happen to them.

Richie goes silent when she leaves, sweeping from the room and climbing the stairs. Richie doesn’t explain as they wash in the basin in the room she has given them, preparing for bed. He doesn’t speak, even as they settle under the light bedding, curling together, just strokes Seth’s hair until he is on the edge of sleep.

“Trust me,” Richie whispers, brushing his mouth across Seth’s hairline, just before sleep takes him.

  


 

Seth has grown used to the signs of the full moon approaching, the way his body starts to ache and how the wolf starts to awaken, rolling around inside him, ready to get out. He works past the sensation, helping with preparations. Days before, he and Richie would help her with repairs to her home, securing the roof of leaks, fortifying the foundations. Seth was sure this didn’t have anything to with what they came to do, but Richie kept him quiet with a look and they worked side-by-side until she called them in for a meal. The _bruja_ , as Richie had taken to calling her, had fed and boarded them, so he could not complain, but today his muscles were sore, bones starting to shift.

“Almost done,” she tells him, giving him a knowing smile. “I will give you balm for that before you go. Let us close the circle, yes?”

They have been working on making a circle out of stones and salt, other odds and ends from her shelves that smell pungent and distinct, but Seth has no name for. Candles are being places in north, south, east, and west locations, to be lit when the time is right. There is a bowl of something black and thick, that she had taken drops of their blood to make. He wants to know if there will be chains, to keep the wolf in place when he rips his way out of Seth’s skin, but he could not find any. She and Richie seem calm, almost serene, and he is squirming out of his skin, trying to focus on placing the last rocks.

Dusk falls when she tells them to step into the circle, the sun behind the willow trees, turning the sky purple and orange. “No clothes,” she says, reminding them.

Richie undresses himself in quick, proficient movements that make Seth wonder if he’s trying to keep his body from shaking, exposing himself like this. Seth slides alway his shirt and drops his trousers, his feet already bare. They pile the clothing together on the edge of the circle, and she picks it up, setting it away from the ritual site.

She steps over their circle with the bowl of black, dipping her fingers in to paint over Seth’s collarbones, over his heart, and down his cheeks and across his brow, then turning to Richie and doing the same. She starts to sing low, in a language that sounds like Spanish, but throatier, with a thicker, rougher sound. The candles are lit, then she hands Seth a knife.

“You will cut your brother and drink his blood,” she says, curling his fingers around the handle. “You must do it quick, or he will heal.”

Richie nods, lifting his chin, baring his throat to the blade. The _bruja’_ s voice fills his head, her low deliberate song, chanting like a steady heartbeat. Seth can’t keep the tremble out of his hands, but manages to cut a smooth, straight line low on Richie’s neck, fixing his mouth over the wound, feeling the cool red liquid spill over his lips and over his tongue, tasting of iron and salt. Seth sucks and licks until the wound erases itself, pressing a kiss to the healed skin.

“The moon is rising,” she says.

Seth stumbles back under the bright moon, curling in on himself, his bones bending and breaking, taking a new shape as the wolf takes over, his skin giving way to thick fur. The wolf sits back on his haunches after he sniffs around the circle, knowing more than Seth does, understanding what the scents mean. He waits for Richie to approach, kneeling in front of him.

“Remember, the wolf has to offer,” The _bruja_ says, when Richie’s hands brush over their fur.

Seth whimpers, letting the wolf relax their body, the wolf chanting, _brother pack mate_ as he lifts their head to offer their throat. It takes a moment for Seth to realize the sharp yelp came from him, too lost in the feeling of richie parting their fur and sinking his fangs into the side of his neck, drinking deep for a few heartbeats. The _bruja_ 's voice thunders in his head, growing loud overhead, raining down on them as he closes his eyes.

He wakes to his human body, the morning light creeping through the trees, Richie’s body heavy on top of him, still dead asleep. Seth nudges him, wanting to get up, wanting to brush off the dirt sticking to his skin. Richie blinks above him, rubbing his eyes, then rolling to sit up on the ground.

The _bruja_ walks over to them, offering back their clothes. “Your horses will be waiting for you,” she says, passing the neatly folded cloth into their hands. “What is done, cannot be undone. You’re now bound together, forever and always. If one dies, then the other will perish along with them. You understand?”

“Yes,” Seth, speaking for both of them, understanding flooding his heart, making it beat loud and hard. “Yes, we do.”

“Good,” she says. “Now go. We are done.”

  


 

Richie leads Seth back to the city before the sun rises to its full strength in the sky, ducking into an inn. Seth asks for a room with no windows and they get a narrow room, just big enough to hold a bed and table with a water pitcher and a basin. Clean towels are laid out for them, the bed is dressed in fresh sheets—it may be small, but at least it’s clean and dark. Seth starts sliding off his jacket and then goes for the buttons on his shirt, but stops when Richie reaches for him. Seth lets Richie unloop each button, lets Richie push his shirt from his shoulders, and reaches out to do the same for Richie, taking turns, back and forth, until they’ve divested each other of their clothes and stand naked in front of each other like they had hours before.

Seth’s head feels light, a kind of dizzy that could knock him on his ass, but his feet stay planted to the floor, heart pounding hard enough for two people. Richie reaches out, his fingers tracing the scars on his shoulder, down each claw mark and over the divets in the shape of a jaw, then he comes in close, following the same pattern with his tongue and his lips.

“I know this is not my memory, but I can almost feel the werewolf attack like it attacked me, feel sink of its jaws and feel myself be dragged across that cave floor. I don’t know what’s happening,” Richie says, cool breath on Seth’s ear, his hand sliding down to press his palm over Seth’s heart, picking up Seth’s hand to mirror him on Richie’s chest—he gasps out when he feels the light _thumpthumpthump_ under his palm. “Do you feel that?”

“But she said—” Seth slides his hand up, pressing against Richie’s throat, marveling at the flutter of a pulse under his fingertips. “Are you—”

“No,” Richie says, reaching for Seth’s other hand, pressing his fingers to his own pulse—it takes a beat, but Seth picks up that the pulse is pumping in synch, same rhythm, beat for beat. “It’s something else. I think I am sharing your heartbeat.”

Seth might have fell had Richie not caught his arms, kept him upright on his feet, but his knees still feel weak, thinking of his heart in his brother’s chest. “She said we were bound,” he says, looking up into Richie’s eyes, noticing the ring of dark brown that fills the space around his pupil, erasing some of the true blue. “Forever and always.”

Richie kisses him, walking him back against the door, pressing their bodies flush together, hard enough that it feels like Richie was trying to meld them together, tongue delving deep. Seth feels it all reflected back, Richie on him and himself pressing back, the feeling doubled, like kissing Richie and kissing himself, the skin of his jaw burning like Richie wasn’t cleanly shaved and he was. “Do you feel that?” Richie asks, voice strained, gasping for breath. “Tell me you feel it too.”

“I do,” Seth says, pushing Richie back towards the narrow bed, grabbing the little vial out of their back as they move across the floor, Richie falling to the bed as Seth stands between his knees. “Now I want to feel what it feels like to fuck you like this.” Richie moans, loud and unbidden, a part of Seth worming under his skin, doing away with his shame. “Hands and knees, brother.”

Richie does well with orders, moving quick to put himself into position, thighs spread apart, back arched, ass faced towards Seth. He uncorks the vial, lets the oil spill out over onto his fingers, not caring if it drops on the sheets, spilling some between Richie’s cheeks, before sliding his fingers up between them, pressing into him. Seth muffles the sound that comes out of him against the back of Richie’s thigh when he slides one finger inside, feeling it curl up inside him, thick and blunt, his face flushing as he works around finger inside of Richie, stretching him open, massaging him loose, feeling his own cock start to leak and drip onto the bed.

“Please,” Richie moans, pushing his hips back when Seth lets another finger join the others, “please, Seth.”

“Okay, sweetheart, okay, I’ll give you what you need,” he says, climbing up on the bed, sliding his slick fingers around himself, before lining up their hips, nudging into Richie, then thrusting deep, tugging his hips back against his. “That what you want?” he asks, feeling Richie squeeze around him, his breath stolen when he thrusts, feeling fucked himself, buried deep inside Richie, but filled up at the same time. “You feel that, brother?”

Richie nods, whining low, hands fisting in the bed clothes, body trembling under Seth. He kisses the back of Richie’s neck, over his his spine, before his mouth makes purchase on his shoulder, his teeth biting down as he thrusts in again, hips jerking forward and back, working into a rhythm. Richie’s blood fills his mouth for a second time that day, but it’s all he can do to keep from flying apart, being fucked and fucking enough to make him break apart, but he wants Richie to come over the edge with him, a hand never touching his cock.

The places where his nails dig into Richie’s hips open and heal over, leaving streaks of blood with no source, spilling onto the sheets, adding to the stains. Richie chants his name when he’s close, always had, like a hymn on Sunday morning, a prayer for them in the night, Seth fucking into him until his body jerks and spasms, squeezing and releasing around Seth, pulling him over as he spills inside Richie. The collapse on the bed after, Seth curling across Richie’s back, panting until their breaths slow and sleep takes them.

Seth wakes, hours later, to Richie running a wet cloth across his stomach and thighs, cleaning up the dried come, leaving the hair around his cock damp, but springing up. The sheets are still dirty from the night before, stained in oil, semen, and blood, but dry now. Seth reaches for Richie, pulling him back into the bed, the cloth dropping to the floor with a wet plop.

“Why did you clean us up when you know we’re just going to make a mess again?” Seth says, nuzzling up Richie throat, nipping at his jugular. “I want to know how it feels when I suck your cock, if it feels the same way when you fuck me. I want to try out everything. Do you think it will fade, or if it’ll be like this forever?”

“Forever, most like. She said we were bound, perhaps this is what she meant.” Richie groans, his hand coming rest against the back of Seth’s head when Seth moves down his body, sucking on a nipple, moaning when the flesh hardens for him, shuddering along with Richie. “We have plenty of time to… explore.”

“Fuck, that feels—no wonder you like it so much when I do that.” Seth reaches out and runs his fingertip over Richie’s other nipple in circles, gasping out at the sensation. “We have forever. I’ll never become bored with this. Was this what she was warning us about?”

Seth laughs, and Richie rolls over on top of him, pinning him to the bed before smothering his laughter with his mouth, kissing him quiet as their palms press together, finger interlacing.

  


 

Time speeds up when you know you won’t ever die. Decades pass in breath, time starts to lose meaning when you have infinite numbered days—no desperation, no rush, just time and Richie by his side. They watch the country grow from the shadows, as the wide open spaces shrink into fewer pockets of land cut through with roads, then freeways, cars replacing horses as the world swells with people. It’s easy to be anonymous in a crowd and they’ve learned how to blend into the nightlife.

Richard and Seth are names that never go out of fashion, simple and classic, so they keep using them. They wear gold bands that Seth picked up back in the 1960’s, shoving the ring on his brother’s finger one night in Vegas, the bright lights a marvel in the once dark desert. Richie picks up a new pair of glasses every few years, says he likes the weight on his face, but the frames and lens keep getting lighter as technology advances ahead. Seth gets a tattoo, covering his left arm from wrist to the side of his neck, black flames as thick as smoke that filled the air the night their father died.

The world feels smaller when they run back into Carlos, a new look, but just as eccentric, heavy leather duster and cowboy hat, a throwback to the 1800s, but it suits him, a relic of an ancient time, older than either of them could ever be. He’s grown Kisa’s legend, shrines spreading across the southern border, her likeness carved into figurines and printed onto candles of saints. Carlos still chases after her, and she still runs, sinking her teeth into freedom and never letting go.

Kisa visits, her appearances deliberate, planned, like there is a tether that she can follow straight to them. She came to the slow realization they had done something when she lets decades pass and Seth hasn’t aged, his body as young as Richie’s, their lifelines entwined now. The last time they met, her fingers with interlaced with a woman who smelled like one of Seth’s own, her warm brown eyes narrowing as Seth unfurled a wolfish smile. He held out his hand, letting her press their palms together.

“It’s nice to meet you, Manola,” he says, letting his eyes flash when hers burn golden.

“Likewise.”

They still run scams, long cons, rob banks, learn the ins and outs of security cameras and alarms. Seth likes the new obstacles, the new tricks they have to learn, watching Richie plan their jobs and learning how the new safes work, how to crack them. Their outlaw streak never ran out of their blood, but grew with them through the years, morphed and evolved, like them. _The Gecko Brothers Always Ride Again_ , whether on horseback or in a stolen, sleek car that Seth likes to push as fast as he can down a desolate highway in the desert, the lone place in the world that still feels like the old days.

Some nights, they get lost in the desert, searching for the caves they spent nights in, but finding nothing familiar, time and mankind eroding away markers, the places Seth had chiseled their names into the rockface. But it is still nice to get away, disappearing into the star filled night, the moon halfway to full.

Seth spreads out a blanket and they lay down on their backs, staring up at the constellations that haven’t changed in a hundred years, Richie still pointing them out like they were still children, telling him their stories. Seth is starting to feel as old as the stars, seeing two centuries pass one over the other as the world grows, leaving it harder to find pockets of time and space when Seth can turn time over in his head, remember when they began.

“Do you regret it?” Richie asks, turning his head, staring Seth down until Seth meets his eyes. He still gasps, when he can see his eyes up close and make out that ring of brown that matches the color of his own eyes, that matches the ring of blue around his pupil.

Richie always asks that in quiet moments, once a decade, like he still can’t believe Seth is still here, that they’ve made it this long, a tremulous hesitancy to his voice that makes Seth think that Richie believes they won’t make it another two hundred years.

“No, never,” Seth always responds, rolling over onto his brother, kissing his way up from his throat to his mouth, letting the stars watch them for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this was a journey. I hope you this is what you wanted! I took several of your tags and threw them together like spaghetti against the wall, and this is what stuck. 
> 
> Title taken from _Two Heads_ by Coleman Hell.
> 
> come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://richiesseth.tumblr.com)!


End file.
